Chapter 8

I hit like again.

And she took it down again.

The next day, Clara sent me a friend request.

Her message read: "Let's talk. Please, stop hurting Michael."

I hit accept.

Clara shot back a quick message: [I know you don't like me, but Michael is really exhausted right now. Could you please stop pushing him? He's too soft-hearted, it's not that he doesn't care about you.]

I replied: [He's tired, so why's he coming to me? Aren't you supposed to be the delicate one? Go comfort him yourself.]

Clara replied almost instantly: [Wow, you really need to learn some manners.]

I laughed.

[Taking someone else's guy and letting him crash at your place, is that your idea of manners?]

Clara went quiet.

After a moment, she texted back: [I knew him before you did.]

I replied: [So what, you met him first. But does that mean you get a deed to his heart?]

Clara went quiet again.

I figured she'd start crying.

But instead, Clara shot over a photo.

In the picture, Michael was sitting on her couch, holding a sleeping child in his arms, with Clara leaning on his shoulder.

The caption was simple: [He needs me right now.]

I stared at the photo for a long time.

It wasn't sadness she felt.

It was ridiculous.

If you have to prove you're needed by sending a photo, that means you're not so sure of your place either. And she knew it.

I replied: [Then hold him tight and don't let go.]

Clara didn't reply.

Half an hour later, Michael called.

"What did you say to her? She's been crying for half an hour straight," Michael Bennett said.

I had gotten out of the shower and was blow-drying her hair.

The dryer was loud, so she set her phone down and put it on speaker.

"She sent me a photo, so I told her she was holding him tight," I said.

Michael Bennett held back his frustration. "Can you grow up a little?"

I turned off the dryer, her hair still damp.

"So being mature means you let him crash at your place, and I'm supposed to worry if she's worn out from crying?" I shot back.

Michael Bennett paused.

I pressed on. "If you want to feel sorry for her, go ahead. But don't act all nice over there and then turn around expecting me to suck it up and be understanding."

"I'm not asking you to play the bigger person."

"Yes, you are. Every single time you say she's got it rough, or she's not feeling well, or you tell me not to upset her: what you're really saying is I should move out of the way for her," I shot back.

There was silence on the other end.

I could hear Clara sobbing in the background.

"I'll go. I'll take the kid and leave, so you don't have to deal with this," Clara said.

Michael Bennett sounded anxious. "Don't overthink it."

I let out a laugh.

Michael Bennett cut in, "Don't laugh."

"Why not? Your whole drama is better than a soap opera," I shot back.

Michael Bennett hung up, pissed.

I tossed her phone onto the couch and went back to blow-drying her hair.

In the mirror, she saw her skin seemed to glow a bit, and her waist looked a touch slimmer.

Turns out, not having to look after a grown man really does make you look younger.